After a couple of tests—this time outside the city—it was clear: time to move on. Alimony couldn't handle a longer blackout. Businesses had to open, people had to earn a living. The only ones probably sad to see me go were the wax merchants.
Julius and Areva met me at the city gates to see me off.
"It's been great, John," Areva said. "But I need my business running again. Same with everyone else here."
She wasn't wrong. And it had been great. It'd been a long time since I stayed in civilization this long. When Julius told me he needed samples, I grabbed the excuse with both hands. Normally, I feel too guilty to stick around—I know how disruptive I am—but this time? I needed the rest. I needed it to steel myself for tomorrow's battles.
"Thank you both," I told them. "We're done with step one. Now it's time to lay the foundation for the next."
"You know what you're looking for?" Julius asked.
"Yes," I said. "But I don't know when I'll be back. This next hunt's going to be a lot harder."
And it will be. Zoomponies were nearby; that's why we chose them first. But the others? They're scattered across the continent. Space-warping creatures aren't exactly common.
"Well. I'll be here when you come back," Julius said.
Areva, expression flat as always, added, "I'm not joining this budding bromance, but I'll be here for a while too."
I laughed. A couple of hugs, a couple of goodbyes, and I turned away from the gates. This time, I wasn't just running.
I bent my right leg. With a stomp, space warped—and I shot forward like Barry Allen on espresso. In a blink, I was hundreds of meters away. Another stomp, and I was kilometers out. Every time my knee bent, the rune sealed, and space folded to let me through. Even after it faded, the remnants lingered long enough to carry me further. All I had to do was bend my knee again.
Sure, I could've hit this kind of speed with raw strength before, but that would've meant sonic booms, fire, maybe a scorched continent. I'm reckless, not apocalyptic. This world's a good place—minus the country-destroying monsters. And the slavery. And the lack of AC in the summer. (That last one might just be me. Magical ACs don't work around me, so I'm basically living in medieval Florida.)
Anyway. My next hunt's going to demand more than brute force. Space creatures are elusive, slippery, born to hide. Finding them will mean sharpening my detective and hunting skills until they're razor-thin.
The Zoomponies' rune is good—but not enough. We ran the numbers: it can't punch through dimensions on its own. To do that, I'll need more runes, from more creatures. Let's just hope I've got enough skin left to carry all the spells I'll need.
Good thing I'm a big guy. More canvas to work with.
For now, I'm just going to enjoy the fact that I can actually cast spells. Spells! I've been stuck in this world for years, and this is the very first time I've managed it. I finally feel like a proper wizard. Maybe I should borrow one of Julius' pointy hats—gotta look the part, right?
Sure, my "spell" is basically a turbo-charged speed boost, but still. Magic is magic. Next thing you know, I'll be shouting Avada Kedavra at people. (Kidding. Probably.)
Anyway—on to the next hunt. I've got a couple of leads, mostly rumors, whispers, the kind of gossip you only hear after buying one too many rounds at the tavern.
It was time to stop listening to tavern drunks and start chasing one of these rumors myself.
First stop: a small fishing village clinging to the coast. Word was their boats had been vanishing the past few months. Not smashed, not stolen—just there one second, gone the next. That sounded suspiciously like space-warping to me.
The villagers were friendly enough when I arrived, mostly because they didn't know who I was yet. Big guy running into town at unnatural speed? Instant celebrity. They peppered me with questions, kids followed me around like ducklings, old women pressed bread into my hands.
It was nice— but wait until their charms and fishing spells started sputtering. We'll see how they react then.
I staked out the coast, watching the fishing grounds with my long-range eyes. Easy enough for me to spot boats on the horizon—harder to keep my brain focused for hours at a time. Staring at water is like watching paint dry, except wetter. Two days of this, nothing. Not even a ripple out of place. At this point, they are suspecting something was wrong with their tools and spells. Clearly, the stranger was to blame. Damn fearmongers. Not that they were wrong—but still. It's the principle.
Fine. If the surface wasn't talking, time to dig deeper.
I dove. I'm no champion swimmer, but raw power makes up for sloppy form. My lungs are strong, but even I can only hold my breath for so long before it burns. Turns out "superhuman" doesn't mean "gills." The deeper I went, the darker it got. My eyes chew through shadow, but they still need something—a scrap of reflected light, a glint off scales. Down there, in the crushing black, there's nothing. And when there's nothing to see, even night-vision eyes are blind.
I still pushed on. Hours in the water, surfacing only when my chest screamed. I saw things—shoals of silver fish, the long shadows of sharks, drifting curtains of kelp—but nothing that explained boats winking out of existence.
For three days I kept at it. Set out decoy boats, bait for whatever was hungry enough to snatch them. Waited. Watched. Dove again.
And then, finally—something.
The water twisted. Out in the gray-green murk, past my bait boat, currents suddenly reversed. A fishing boat jerked sideways, sucked into the swirl. The men aboard screamed—but only for a heartbeat. Then—blip. Boat, men, gone.
I froze, lungs aching.
Then I dove, hard. The current yanked me sideways—fast, violent, unpredictable. Below, the fishermen flailed, wide-eyed and terrified, dragged into the dark like hooked fish.
I kicked, but my sloppy form sent me veering off course. Superhuman reflexes saved me; I corrected, muscles burning as I fought the pull. The currents were chaos—pulling one way, shoving another, never steady.
The new leg rune was NOT helping. Every time it flared, it launched me in the wrong direction, slingshotting me farther from the men. I had to fight not just the sea, but my own damned power. So I forced it quiet, swimming on raw muscle alone.
One man first—I caught his arm and yanked him in. But the other was already sinking deeper, slipping toward the black. Do I go up, save the man I have? Or risk him, chase the other?
No time to think. I kicked for the surface, dragging the first man with me. Couldn't go full speed, not with him in tow—snapping his spine from G-forces would defeat the point. I got him to shore, gasping and retching seawater, before diving again.
"Shit—where is he?"
Deeper, darker. My eyes found a splinter of boat wood, spinning in the current. Then—there. A limp body being dragged, nearly to the seafloor. How is the current so fast?!
I cut down after him, lungs screaming. Got a hand on him, hauled him close. He was unconscious, dead weight. But maybe we can revive him above water. No time to check. I planted a foot on the seafloor, coiled, kicked.
Seconds later, we broke surface.
Back on the sand, I dropped the man down. One fisherman was coughing, retching seawater. The other lay limp. Maybe dead. Maybe not. Only one way to know.
Villagers were already rushing in, voices rising like gulls. I focused on the still one. Drowning—how did it go again? Do I do chest compressions? No, not yet. Side first? Maybe. Get the water out. Again, no time to think, so I did just that.
I rolled him over. Saltwater gushed from his mouth and nose. Still nothing. I tapped his back, desperate for another surge. Nothing. My hands hovered, ready to do chest compressions, when a voice cut through.
"Move!"
A woman dropped beside me, pressing her hand to his chest. Light flickered—then sputtered and died.
"Damn it! It's that interference again!" she snapped.
Fuck. It's my fault. She turned toward me, but before the words could come, I cut her off.
"Try again after I leave."
I bent my right knee, and I was gone from the beach.
I don't know what happened to the man after that. I ran. Far, far from there. I had to. The further I was, the better his chances. I warped every chance I got, legs screaming, until hours later I finally stopped.
I didn't even know where I was anymore—deep in the wildlands, rain pouring like the sky was trying to drown me too.
I stood there, soaked and heavy, trying not to replay the what-ifs. I've been through this song and dance before. Even had a pep talk about it. Thanks Julius. But still, with all this power in my hands, how can I not think about what I could've done better?
That's when I noticed the steam. My right leg, hissing in the rain. The rune was glowing red-hot, like a brand. I touched it. Yup—definitely heat.
Guess I overdid it. We knew this could happen. The old rune-warriors had the same problem, the high level ones anyway—their marks would burn, cooking the very flesh they were etched on. A rune heats a little every use. Push it hard, stack warp after warp, and the heat builds until something gives.
Wards on stone or steel? Fine. Replace the plate, replace the staff. Body runes? Different story. Flesh doesn't take kindly to being cooked. My healing factor helps, but even it has limits—and runes are delicate work.
It's why large scale wards and high quality staves use exotic materials to conduct the mana better. Prevents overheating.
Still… there's a tradeoff. These runes are alive now, part of me. They learn, adapt, grow tougher the more I push them. In time, I'll be able to hold more power, run further, burn hotter.
But right now? This is my limit.
A few days later, I came back. Still keeping my distance, but close enough for my eyes to sweep across the village. Thank god for the upgrades—faces that far away were still visible to me. I didn't see the man I'd dragged ashore. Maybe he was there and I just didn't recognize him. Maybe not. I let the thought go.
I dove again. If it wasn't a space-warping beast, then I'd still find whatever was causing this and deal with it. Either way, I'd know.
The ocean pressed heavier the deeper I swam, until the faint pull of the current found me again. That same suction in the dark, drawing me down. I followed it, muscles burning, until the seafloor stretched beneath me.
There—a hole. The water flowed into it like air down a throat. I drifted closer, reached out, touched the edge—
And the ground shifted.
The "hole" rose beneath my hand. The seabed itself groaned and moved, and the ocean around me seemed to breathe. That wasn't a hole. It was a nostril.
Then the rest of it stirred awake.
A turtle, so vast its barnacle-crusted shell was indistinguishable from coral reef. Its skin had the texture of rock, its movements as slow and deliberate as tectonic plates. One inhale pulled the ocean into itself, a tide strong enough to swallow boats. One exhale rippled outward like a storm.
It blinked at me. A single, ponderous eye larger than my entire body.
And for once, I had no instinct to fight.
This wasn't a monster. It wasn't even a threat, not really. It was ancient, patient, simply existing on a scale I could barely comprehend. I felt small—me, with all my runes and strength—tiny in the presence of something that had likely outlived kingdoms.
I'd come ready to kill. Instead, I found myself humbled.
I thought about all the nights I'd beaten myself up over what I couldn't save, what I couldn't fix. How I always assumed more strength, more speed, more control would've been enough. But here was a creature that could sink a fleet without even noticing—and it wasn't evil. It didn't even know the damage it was causing.
Power doesn't make you right. Doesn't even make you aware. It just… is.
The turtle was proof of that. And maybe a reminder.
Still, it couldn't stay. The villagers wouldn't survive this kind of neighbor. So, gently as I could, I pressed against its shell and heaved. The turtle thrashed, but without malice—just confusion. Against me, it had no chance. Step by grinding step, I pushed the island-sized giant along the seabed, guiding it miles away.
When I finally let go, it drifted, unhurried, already settling into its new home.
I lingered there, suspended in the quiet, watching it vanish into the gloom. It was like seeing the ocean itself breathe.
Here's to hoping it doesn't wander back.
I broke the surface and sucked in a breath. It was probably the best-tasting air I'd had in my life. My chest ached, but the relief of it almost made me laugh. My gaze turned towards the village.
I had to know. I'm not sure if my presence there would do anything, but I had to know. So, I crept back in the middle of the night. Bonfires burned low, their glow washing the open-air houses in flickering warmth. Shadows stretched across the sand.
I moved quietly, peering through windows, looking for the man's face, to no luck. By the third house, a voice cut through the silence.
"I knew you were back."
I froze.
She was sitting against the roots of a coconut-like tree, smoking a cigarette, as if she'd been waiting for me. The same blonde woman who'd shouted at me to move on the beach, who'd tried to heal the dying man. Somehow, I'd walked right past her. She blended into the night like she belonged there.
"I knew as soon as my lights started sputtering again," she said, exhaling smoke that curled into the firelight.
I didn't answer. Just stood there, waiting for her to continue.
She turned her head toward me. "John Delinger, right?"
I nodded.
"John Delinger. Strongest man alive." Another drag. "I met you before. Up north, during the war. You probably don't recognize me, but I remember you. Anyone who saw you back then would."
Her voice softened on that last line, but it still hit like a hammer.
I didn't know how to feel about it. People remembering me from those days… it wasn't exactly a blessing. I'd done terrible things. Great things, too. But back then I'd been raw, unrestrained. I wasn't proud of everything people might recall.
So I asked the only question that mattered. "Is he… alive?"
Her face tightened, like she was choosing her words with care.
"The kid you pulled up first is fine. Shaken, but alive."
"And the other?"
She looked at me for a long moment. "He was gone before you even got him to the surface. The pressure killed him down there. I'm sorry."
The words washed over me. My mind went blank. I know, Julius. I know we've been through this before. Many, many times. But I still can't stop thinking about what ifs. What if I'd gone down sooner? What if I took the time to learn how to swim? What if I hadn't been there at all—would they have been pulled under in the first place? What if, what if, what if.
I knew they weren't my responsibility. They were grown men who chose the sea, who knew its dangers. But knowing that didn't stop the loop. Didn't stop the weight.
"I know that look, John. The guilt," she said, flicking ash into the sand. "I may not be as strong as you, but I'm a healer. And a soldier. I've felt the same. It never really goes away."
She ground the cigarette out against the roots, then rose to her feet. Her expression softened, just slightly.
"The reason I said people from the war would still recognize you—it's not because you look the same. You don't. You're bigger now. Taller. Marked up with ink. You've changed." She paused, her eyes lingering on me.
"But you still wear that same look on your face."
The silence stretched between us. Then she turned, walking back toward the fires.
"Goodnight, John."